


I Was Over in the Bronx!

by Pokeydotes



Series: The Mulaney Paradigm [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: John Mulaney References, we don't deserve John Edmund Mulaney
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23151442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokeydotes/pseuds/Pokeydotes
Summary: Most people can be reasoned with. Then there's J. Jonah Jameson.Peter learned a long time ago not to try and reason with that idiot.Or an MCU take on John Mulaney's "I was over on the bench!" bit...Spider-Man style
Series: The Mulaney Paradigm [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658206
Comments: 9
Kudos: 102





	I Was Over in the Bronx!

New York was full of idiots.

Five borrows worth.

Which was probably why Peter currently found himself swinging around Yankee Stadium chasing some nut job with a jet pack and a laptop full of stolen credit card numbers.

And _yeah_ , he had a jet pack.

“Well, Spidey, don’t you have to be smart to make a jet pack?” you might be asking.

Why yes, yes you do.

But this jackass didn’t make it. He stole that too.

So still an idiot.

Never mind the fact that Peter had been chasing the guy since Queens, which was nowhere near the Bronx.

There was webbing spread out from Flushing, all along the underside of the Queensboro Bridge, the length of Park Avenue, and now Yankee Stadium. Not only was Peter tired and annoyed, but he was also running low on web fluid.

Needless to say, “idiot” wasn’t the only name Peter had for the guy.

But it was the one Peter was sticking with, not just because it was the most family friendly, but because it was the most obvious.

Because while Peter was running low on fluid, Bad Guy was also running low on fuel. He’d begun losing altitude when they passed through Manhattan, and he was now currently hovering through the stadium, ping-ponging off one set of nosebleed seats then another like a fish bouncing around its tank.

Peter landed on a set of stadium lights and tried to catch his breath. “Dude, you are totally not my favorite person today.”

Bad Guy ignored him.

Peter watched as he tried to steer towards the scoreboard only to change direction at the last minute and end up trapped in the big ass Delta Airlines sign.

Peter laughed, but only a little. Partly because he wasn’t a jackass, but mostly because Bad Guy had officially run out of fuel and Gravity was a bitch.

It started as a little sputter, the jet pack trying hard to stay aloft before just giving out completely. Peter watched as Bad Guy struggled with his boot being caught in the sign before he just suddenly dropped like a stone.

A little quick thinking, a lot of luck, and a quick flick of the wrist and Peter caught the guy.

Sort of.

The webbing was tangled around his ankle, holding him upside down and just a few feet above the seats below.

Peter considered this a win. Bad Guy disagreed.

“You broke my leg!” he screamed.

Peter winced, then asked, “But are you dead?”

“My leg!”

“I get it, it hurts and I’m sorry,” Peter apologized. “But let’s focus more on the whole you’re still alive thing, okay? Priorities.”

“My leg!”

“Priorities, dude.”

Peter lowered him to the ground and the waiting policemen below.

An older cop with a Magnum PI mustache and a squinty-eyed stare looked at the guy, who was now writhing on the ground, before looking up at Peter, judgingly. “You broke his leg?”

“I want it on record that that was more his fault than mine,” Peter said, then promptly left before he could be accused of anything else.

The plan was to get a hotdog and then take his sweet time getting home.

But life tended to suck sometimes.

“Peter,” Karen chimed in as Peter was busy looking for where he’d stashed his emergency hotdog cash, “A robbery in progress was just reported at Queens County Savings Bank near Sunnyside Gardens.”

Peter groaned, mourned the lack of a hotdog, and made his way back to Queens.

Even though he moved as fast as he could, it wasn’t like Queens was right next door to the Bronx, so it took a minute.

A long minute apparently, because when Peter finally arrived on site, it was to find the police securing the scene and escorting an unhappy robber into the back of a police car.

Maybe there was time for a hotdog after all.

“Hey, Spidey!”

Or not.

Peter was balanced atop a street light, eyes squinted against the late day sun as he watched the police do their job just like the rest of Queens. But at the sound of his name he looked down towards the nosey crowd and…fuck.

Jonah Jameson was sneering up at him. An unlit cigar clenched between his teeth and the usual indignant expression that was equal parts hatred and bullshit firmly in place and aimed in Peter’s direction.

“Jameson,” Peter greeted, taking a deep calming breath while he reminded himself that the good guys didn’t throw people in the East River.

No matter how much they might deserve it.

Jameson gestured towards the bank and police caution tape, “Did you know about this?”

“I heard about it, yeah,” Peter admitted, “but I couldn’t really do anything about it. I was over in the Bronx.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Jameson just smiled. Never a good thing to see. “So you heard about it, and yet you did nothing.”

What the hell? “Because I was in the Bronx,” Peter repeated.

Jameson looked around, ensured he had the crowd’s attention, then turned back to Peter. “Tell me, Spider-Man, you’ve heard of Hydra?”

Okay. Random. “…yeah.”

“When people see what those Hydra goons are doing and they do nothing,” Jameson began, “do you think those are good people?”

“No. If you have the ability to stop someone from doing something bad, to help someone, you have to,” Peter explained. “Good people who have the ability to help, but then don’t? They’re just as bad as the bad guy.”

A few people nodded in agreement.

Jameson did not nod. He just gestured to the horde of police cars and asked, “But you knew about this and yet you did nothing?”

“Because I was over in the Bronx!” Peter reminded him. Again.

Jameson reached up and grabbed the cigar from his mouth with two fingers only to point it accusingly at Peter. “Just tell me this, Spider-Man, how are you _better_ than a Hydra agent?”

“Dude,” Peter grumbled, burying his face in his hands. “I am not in the mood for your particular brand of whackadoo today.”

“You have a new text message from May Parker,” Karen chimed in, blessedly blocking out whatever soap box Jameson was currently climbing on and spewing out. “She has made a salad with Craisins.”

Peter didn’t particularly like Craisins. They were like disappointing grapes with a sour aftertaste.

But if Peter had to choose between another night of May’s experimental cooking or listening to J. Jonah Jameson try to brainwash anyone who would listen about how Spider-Man was nothing more than a menace?

Well…

Peter wasn’t an idiot.

“Tell May I’m on my way.”

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NWJI522x5oQ
> 
> This was the only clip I could find...but I'm sure most people already know how the joke goes. Or they should.


End file.
